


Le Monde Gris

by Escanor



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Kiss, First Time, Florist France, Kinda, M/M, One Shot, Tattoo Artist England, frukweek2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-30 22:40:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8551972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escanor/pseuds/Escanor
Summary: I had always thought my life was colourful. The dawn, the dusk, the flowers I adored; colour was everywhere. I thought my life had been painted before my birth, like everyone else, in colours I had no input in, but because of him… I realised that we can be the artist of our own life, and choose the colours for ourselves.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For FrUK week 2016

I had always thought my life was colourful. The dawn, the dusk, the flowers I adored; colour was everywhere. I thought my life had been painted before my birth, like everyone else, in colours I had no input in, but because of him… I realised that we can be the artist of our own life, and choose the colours for ourselves.

-

It had just been another day at work. I’d awoken early in my apartment above the shop, smelled the familiar scent of my flowers and drifted downstairs to begin arranging them all. I thought their colour and life was all I needed. It was that day that the shop next door finally opened. The previous owner, a baker, had passed away, and someone else had bought the property. Over the past couple of weeks I had watched, horrified, as they turned the quaint bakery into a modern, punky tattoo studio. As much as I believe the body is but a canvas for us to explore, I just could not abide the thought of permanently staining my body with something like that, and the thought of having one of _them_ right next door had been making me rather miserable for a while. That day I saw the new owner of the shop for the first time, and he matched my expectations. He was covered in tattoos, though his face and neck were free of them, thank goodness, but something struck me about him in that moment, when I saw him through my open window that day. More than his ridiculously thick eyebrows or equally thick English accent, his entire being had this aura of colour. It was in that moment, that I realised my life had always been grey.

He came to my shop the next day, introduced himself as Mr Arthur Kirkland and invited me out for coffee, apologising that he was too busy to do so the day before. I insisted that he really had nothing to worry about and no reason to treat me to coffee, when he sidled over to me and mentioned that he had ulterior motives. I stared at him in shock, but he laughed and clarified that he wanted to get to know the area and the people, and where to go for the best coffee, and being a florist, he assumed I would be one to know the gossip. I told him not to get his hopes up, but agreed to show him around as soon as I could. I guess I had my own ulterior motives too. I hated tattoos and never understood people who chose to defile their skin so, but he was so down to earth, and I couldn’t get enough of that strange, colourful feeling I got from him. I found myself wanting to know more about him, so I accepted his offer and we made plans for the following week.

The next day I brought some flowers to his shop as a housewarming gift of sorts. Picking them had been tricky, I knew what they should look like but they, like everything else in my shop, just seemed so grey and dull. I almost felt ashamed as I presented the bouquet to my new neighbour, but to my surprise, they seemed to light up in his hands, as if his touch alone could bring life. He thanked me and proceeded to position them carefully in a vase on his window frame.

“It’s nice to finally get some colour in here!” Arthur remarked, sighing as he took in the sight of the still-bare walls. “There’s a lot to be done, but I’ll still be able to make it next week.”

“And when will the grand opening be?” I asked.

“Oh, not for some time yet! There’s plenty more to be done before that can happen!” He laughed and shrugged it off. “Thank you for the flowers, Monsieur Bonnefoy, they really do light up this place.”

“You’re very welcome, and just Francis is fine.” I replied as I headed back to the door. I wasn’t keen to leave but I could see he had a lot on his plate, so rather reluctantly I returned to my shop.

His French was fairly good, impressive for a foreigner who had just moved here, but it was nowhere near perfect. During the week that passed he continually turned down my efforts to speak in English instead, and when we finally settled down in my favourite local coffee shop, I asked him why. He said he was the one who had to learn, he had wanted to come to work in France for years and had studied as much as he could, but there was only so far one could get without actually living there. He then explained that aside from it being general French custom, his French had to be near perfect before he officially opened the shop, because his customers would describe what they wanted to be put on their bodies permanently, and it would be a disaster if he got it wrong because of his language skills. Strangely, I felt admiration for him, though I was concerned about how he was going to get by until then. He shrugged it off and said he’d find some way to manage, and that’s when I stunned myself. I asked if he’d like to work for me for a while.

Arthur clearly hadn’t expected my offer either, and froze with his cup halfway to his mouth. He asked me if I was sure, to which I replied that he would be more than welcome. I didn’t know what I was saying, I was just speaking without thinking, but when my mind started running again, I realised this situation could be beneficial for both of us. I interrupted his bizarre babbling about not wanting to impose, something I never expected someone so down to earth to do - but then I had only known him for a week.

I could sense his unexplainable aura of colour so strongly in that moment, and it spurred me on to say words I didn’t really consider, but would get me what I wanted. I told him his artistic skills could bring something new to my work, perhaps he could see things I couldn’t, and maybe he could improve his own work through being involved in mine. Looking back, this was a completely sound argument, but all I had wanted at the time was to feel his colours more, to take them in and maybe he could lift the grey from my life and my flowers. It was like all the colour and life my world had been filled with before had been absorbed into him, and what was most frightening to me was that I didn’t even want to get it back, I just wanted him close to me.

At least four “Are you sure?“s later, Arthur agreed to try it out, even just for a day. He came back to my shop and I showed him around and explained to him basically what I did, reassuring him that he would not have to arrange flowers right there and then, which seemed to ease him. He informed me that he would be free to help out in two days, if that would be suitable, and, quietly overjoyed, I told him that that would be an ideal day for him to try out.

Two days later, Arthur had been watering my plants when a regular customer of mine came in, so I introduced them. The woman, Lucille, was likely just the gossip Arthur had been after, so I left them to it and went about watering my flowers, noting their apparent rejuvenation and the slight variation of tone and shade among them. I had been right, Arthur’s presence among my flowers really did bring their life back. As such, I was quick to invite him back, and he, having seemed to have enjoyed himself, was quick to accept the job.

He settled in quickly, coming over to make coffee and help me do chores early in the morning. His awkwardness from when I proposed the arrangement had vanished again and we had settled into an easy, chatty relationship, joking over our croissants and picking up newspapers for each other. He would work the till for me most days, and as such his French had improved dramatically. The pride he couldn’t hide only made him glow brighter to me, and I felt my own life warming and becoming beautiful once again. I would ask him for help whenever I hit a wall, and while his suggestions weren’t always conventional - or even pleasant - he always managed to get the ball rolling again. He would spend ages in the shop after we closed up, sketching various bouquets then perfecting them into tattoo designs in a notebook he used just for that purpose. He showed it to me one day, and as I praised his beautiful artwork I suddenly realised what I was saying. Somehow the presence of his tattooed body had erased my hatred of them. I still wouldn’t want one, but somewhere along the line I had begun to find them... pretty. 

He always blushed a little when I praised his work, and turned his head away from me. I didn’t question why until our time together was up and his shop was finally open. I was alone at the counter for the first time in a month, and that was when it hit me. My life was back to how it was before, exactly. The grey was gone and the bright colours and scents that I adored were back, but still, somehow, Arthur remained brighter than everything else. The past month flashed before my eyes, the shared coffee, the easy conversation and easier little arguments; the one water fight we had when we got drunk that we swore never to repeat. I realised I missed how warm I felt around him and how he always blushed when I praised him.

He always blushed when I praised him…and now that I thought about it, he always spoke about how he noticed just how colourful it was in my shop compared to his studio, though his studio was filled with art and ink and ideas that my flowers could never hope to match. He had gladly accepted my thank you gift of a bouquet at the end of the month, mentioning how they would bring some more colour to his studio, but how could my flowers…

A strange thought crossed my mind. An unbidden thought, one I had unconsciously been trying to keep silent for a while. What if… What if I brought colour to Arthur's life, as he did to mine? What if his world had been grey too, until I gave him that first bouquet of flowers? What if he felt-

My thoughts were tripping over themselves in the effort to be heard, but I stopped that one in time. I knew that if I even began to consider that thought, there would be no going back. But there was so much possibility. He spoke about the bright colours of my plants far more than any normal person would; he always managed to solve any problems I had, picking me up if I felt down and encouraging me when I felt empty of ideas, even when I never told him how I was feeling. If I was bored he would tease me, and even though I tried to resist, he would, without fail, manage to entice me into an insult battle, usually with our respective home countries as the targets, and for some reason, it was one of the things I had enjoyed most about that month.

But most of all, it was how he always blushed when I praised him. Other than adding another shade to his infinite palette, it stirred up a warmth within me, and it was only now when it was gone, that I realised how much I enjoyed it.

It was too late. I couldn’t hold it back any more. The thought, the idea was overpowering me, so I finally surrendered to it and let it ruin me. What if… What if he liked me? Finally allowing myself to consider the possibility made it easier to admit to myself that over the past month, I had really grown to like him. I smirked to myself as it strode across my mind. “Like”. There was no use lying to myself any longer. I had completely, without question, fallen for him. He was so undeniably beautiful to me, so bright and colourful. I couldn’t think of anything about him that I didn’t adore, from his creativity despite being so grounded to his ever-changing insults that even made arguing with him enjoyable. And then there were his huge, silly eyebrows, his wide smile, his tattoos… By this point I wasn’t surprised at all to discover that I had started to find them attractive. They were an illustration of his soul painted on his skin, he decorated his body with the loves of his mind, and it was beautiful to see the care and detail and passion his body expressed. But what I loved most, what had convinced me that this was more than anything I’d ever felt before or ever would again, was how he absorbed every drop of colour in my life then released it all tenfold. My life had become so vivid, so bright that my flowers seemed to glow in the darkness, and it was all because I met him.

I am not overly familiar with experiencing fear. I find it easy to speak with other people, even flirt a little, which can be beneficial in my line of work. Sometimes it can be helpful, and it can lead to my giving advice on what sort of bouquet would suit the occasion, while other times I will avoid it altogether, if the occasion is less joyful. Legitimate flirting with actual romantic intentions, though, is significantly more difficult. Naturally I still excel, but it feels a little shallow - not that that has stopped me before. This time though, it would be impossible. Flirtatious and perverse were among the plethora of insults Arthur had come up with for me, so I would have to be as plain and straightforward as possible if I wanted him to take me seriously if I confessed. I took a deep breath and urged myself on as I passed through the doorway onto the street, and made my way to Arthur’s tattoo studio.

“Arthur?” I called as I entered the shop, my voice somewhat quieter than I had intended. A little sign caught my eye, explaining that he was currently working and to come back later, but at that moment he appeared from a door in the back wall.

“Francis! What great timing! I’m just finishing up with Mr. Dubois, just wait here a minute and I’ll be right with you!” As Arthur disappeared into the back room again, I made my way to the armchairs lining the wall as instructed, and gazed out of the window as people moved outside. I wondered if their lives were grey, or if someone had made colour explode into their lives, like mine.

My eyes wandered back inside and around the walls, taking in the ink and art upon them. I spotted his portfolio on the cabinet by the till and moved towards it, curiosity overcoming me. I flicked through the pages, thoroughly impressed by the photographs within, but noticing that his sketchpad was just next to it, I picked it up instead to have a look. I started at the beginning with the old pages that Arthur had been embarrassed to show me at first, all skulls and guitars and roses, then turned through the pages of the notebook. I saw how his art style evolved and developed, even in such a short time. When I reached the “floral section” - the nickname Arthur would use to refer to the pages that had been filled as he had been in my service and sketching flower after flower - I felt simultaneous warmth and dread. Turning more and more pages I began to realise that the floral section didn’t seem to end, even when I came across unfamiliar sketches. Then, when I finally reached the last used page, my heart stopped.

It was a drawing of an iris, an actual drawing, not some tattoo idea, and it was soft and delicate and perfect. Even my untrained eye could see a lot of time must have been spent on this. But what struck me more, and sent little needles of light and emotion shooting through me, were the words “For he who paints my life in colour”, enscribed twice around the flower, in English above and in French below. I could hardly breathe. He knew irises were my favourite flower, my national flower, and that had come up before in our insult battles, so he couldn’t have forgotten, so then, what-

“It’s just over here, then.” I yelped in surprise as Arthur spoke cheerfully, leading who I assumed to be Mr. Dubois to the till. They cast bemused glances at me as I fumbled frantically with Arthur’s sketchpad, having jumped out of my hands when he unintentionally gave me a fright. I laid the book down on the surface as carefully as I could as the man paid and left with a smile.

“So, another happy customer?” I asked as Arthur stared at me, one bushy eyebrow raised.

“Let’s hope so. So…what were you doing?” He grinned at me, very much aware that he was making me feel like a child who had been caught stealing sweets from the kitchen.

“I…er…was just having a look…” I managed to say, and gestured to his sketchpad. Arthur’s eyebrow raised again. “Arthur, I… I saw the last page.” He didn’t say anything, but his eyebrow fell and his grin faded, and his cheeks began to turn pink. His gaze left mine.

“Is that so?” He said, finally. My heart sank. Clearly I wasn’t meant to see this, this was something personal.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” I began, before me cut me off.

“It’s okay, I figured you’d find out sooner or later.” He admired the floor intensely and started turning away from me. “I’m sorry. That probably looks really creepy to you.”

“Creepy? No, Arthur, I get it! I understand.”

“I’m not saying you’re lying but I really doubt-”

“No, honestly! You coloured in my life too. Literally! It was grey and dull but you coloured it in! Trust me Arthur, I understand.” I moved closer to him, and watched the realisation dawn on him.

“It happened to you too?” he asked slowly. I nodded, and saw the glorious smile break out on his face. I knew it could ruin the moment, and I was definitely not prepared for rejection, but I knew I had to say it now.

“I… I really like you, Arthur.” I confessed. He paused, a look of mild surprise upon his features, then his cheeks reddened a little further.

“You…really?”

I just smiled and nodded, very much relieved, and watched him grow more and more flustered. Eventually I laughed and put a hand on his shoulder. He seemed startled at my touch, but didn’t pull away. I took that as encouragement.

“May I kiss you?” I asked. Arthur’s eyes widened, his thick eyebrows shooting up his forehead, then a huge grin spread out across his face.

“If you so desire it, monsieur.” He replied, catching me off guard with his almost flirtatious tone.

“As you wish.” I said softly, and kissed him. All the colours Arthur had brought to me were nothing compared to this. I had never experienced sheer emotion of this magnitude, and though my eyes were closed, the darkness danced with shades of every spectrum. My heart raced as I moved my hand to his hair to pull him closer, as he did the same to me. I couldn’t believe the eruption of colour and joy and awe that could be unleashed by simply pressing my lips against his, but it was true and I couldn’t get enough of it. I attempted to deepen our kiss, to make it more passionate, more powerful, more beautiful, but in that moment Arthur pulled away.

“I think we should save that for later.” He spoke through reddened lips. “Much as I could do this all day… and trust me, I want to… this isn’t really the place.” He finished, gesturing to the large windows that lined the wall. I gazed at his eyes, the thoughts I could see within them teasing me, and reluctantly agreed.

“I’ll come back later then.” I promised with a wink, and stole another kiss on his nose that made him blush.

“I’ll look forward to it.” replied Arthur as I left, in an equally seductive tone. This was definitely a side of him I’d never seen, but one I would most certainly enjoy exploring.


End file.
